Logs:Breathing is Important
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| RL Date: 3 May, 2015 |
| Who: Edyis, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Holdbred morals and Weyrbred morals result in a very amusing (or horrifying) turn of events for weyrlings Z'kiel and Edyis. Haircuts may be involved. |
| Where: Bathing Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: 14D 9M 37T I10, autumn morning |
| Weather: 14D 9M 37T I10, autumn morning |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions, F'rain/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions, Greta/Mentions, Gerta/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Feel free to edit, correct, and alter away! |
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>---< Bathing Pools, High Reaches Weyr >-------------------------------------<
Omnipresent clouds of steam slink across the tops of three naturally warm
pools, set into the floor of this kidney-shaped cavern. Near the entrance
the ceiling is high and polished, gleaming with little mineral specks as
it sweeps downward into increasingly ragged, uneven steps. The foremost of
the pools is squared off with wide steps leading down into the water and
has faucets for bringing in cooler water from a rain-catching cistern.
Primarily used for laundry, there's an almost constant film of suds along
its surface until the circulating current clears it at the end of the day.
Four sinks line the nearest wall and various tubs stored beneath allow for
the washing of delicates. Laundry bags can be dropped off in the bins near
the door and clean, folded laundry is stacked in rows of tall cubbies for
easy pickup.
The bend in the cavern leads to a rougher-hewn part of the chamber where
the two circular bathing pools welcome those in need of a wash. Towels and
washcloths are kept in neat stacks on shelves along the wall, along with
sacks of sweetsand and a few bars of precious soap. Stone benches provide
a place for sitting to remove shoes and clothing, while a row of gleaming
brass hooks stand above, ready to hold clothes and robes.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Edyis F 20 5'4" athletic, brown hair, brown eyes 0s
Z'kiel M 20 6'3" lean, black hair, green eyes 5s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Inner Caverns
>---------------------------------------< 14D 9M 37T I10, autumn morning >---< It's morning and there are few reasons for one to need a bath at this hour - but weyrlings tend to have plenty and, surely, one of those reasons would explain why Z'kiel is here in the first place. The scarred Igenite is shamelessly naked and sitting on a bench, a bowl of foamy water resting at his right side and a fogged over mirror at his left. A change of clothes, a towel, and various other bathing implements rest just out of reach - for now. And he's busy. His head is partially lathered and he has a straight razor that he's putting to good effect. He's been here a while; three-quarters done and, thus far, without a nick or scratch to be found. From braided to bald within a sevenday - it might be some kind of record. "Your hair." Edyis stops dead in her tracks coming in from the caverns, staring once more at the Igenite, dark brown eyes wide in shock and horror. Her expression shifts after a moment, and her voice is sharp, "Quinlys." And thus flees any hope for a peaceful weyrlinghood. The rasp of the razor against skin and hair pauses briefly at that exclamation. Z'kiel's gaze cuts askance, though it's likely not far enough to pull Edyis into his sight. "Yes," is the only answer he can give. At least for the moment. The razor continues its slow, deliberate course - and a wet mess of hair and lather splatters on the floor between his feet. He passes the fingers of his other hand over the spot, seeking out anything he missed, and he intones, "Telavi, too. And Ahtzudaeth," which should be more damning, but is too filled with dark amusement at the bronze's conspiratorial capacity. "They have not gotten to you." More observation than question. Then: "Yet." is dropped like a heavy coin. That she swallows hard, at his coin drop phrase, is perhaps the most telling. "The bandana, keeping everything pinned up tight and out of sight helps maybe." Still, there's something in the short angry steps to the cubbies as her basket of toiletries is set down. "I think things might get very violent. I would rather punch Quinlys in the face and deal with the consequences than let her touch my hair." Apparently Telavi gets lumped in that as well. "What is the point of it truly? You could argue lice, but that is only a valid argument if you shave everyone's head." She unties the bandana that has been faithfully hiding those dark soft curls from the eyes of scissor happy staff. To which there's a grunt and the Igenite rinses the blade off in the water. Fingers search for the next point and thus is the razor applied again. Should Edyis get closer, she'll see that he's not wholly undamaged; his knuckles are split and raw, somewhat scabbed over. Z'kiel remains silent while he lays bare another section of his scalp; it's only when the stuff adds to the mess already on the ground that he intones, "That was the argument they were making. And that winter was coming." He snorts. "Long hair takes longer to dry. That is what they told me. And we are to learn the rules. To obey." There probably was more - but not much more. His upper lip twists as the most egregious detail is told. "They kept my braid." "Winter is more argument for keeping it, even if it takes slightly longer to dry... I think the second probably has more to do with it. Blind obedience." There is a derisive snort for that, "That or Quinlys gets her kicks from having power over people. Really, the weyrling master who openly was telling people not to stand because they might go to Igen expects blind obedience? You should ask Keysi about when she was searched sometime." She may be saying things she doesn't completely mean, but she's also uncoiling her braid, which may affect her judgement in the moment. "Bitch." A word once reserved only for Yesia, now has a second person attached. "She visited Igen once." He turns his head just enough to spit to one side and narrowly avoid his own foot. "She wanted to talk politics. She picked the wrong person." Z'kiel straightens, though there's still a bit of work left to be done on his head - not much more, at least. "She did not approve of F'rain's methods - but it is not her place to do so. Not her Weyr." A shoulder rises, falls, and he sets back into the work. "She twists words. I will hope that Ahtzudaeth proves himself well in the next gold flight." He'll just leave that there. A grunt follows after her utterance of bitch, but there's naught more for him to add; he's working again, slowly but steadily, to wipe the last traces of his hair away. "I can't say I approve either, but there is a difference between disagreeing with a method that is likely to cause issues in the long run and going out someplace and standing on a soapbox." She answers though the irony is perhaps lost. Her hand goes to her braid, looking at Z'kiel after he finishes. "Would you mind..." She sighs, as her fingertips coil protectively around the plait. "I won't give her the satisfaction of doing it herself, and the best way of doing that would be to beat her to the punch right?" Dark eyes, flicker over that bald scalp. "Mind you my resolve isn't as firm as yours, I'd look ridiculous bald." "He is a traditionalist." A final pass of the razor - carefully navigated around his ear - yields an equally final pass of hands over his freshly shorn scalp. "I am, too. But. This," he taps on his own head for demonstration, "could have been handled differently." Z'kiel rises slowly, both hands sliding over his head once again. His expression is impossible to properly read, though the twist of his mouth at the end is telling enough. Rather than immediately answer, he cocks a thumb at the bench he'd just vacated. Then he's off to collect that bowl and dump it somewhere appropriate. The razor, though; he keeps that. "I can cut straight," he offers, but there is no other promise made. "So you agree with metallics being the only ones to lead?" It isn't accusatory, more curious. The razor is scrutinized before she takes a deep breath. "Would you mind? Just shoulder length, no need for anything fancy. It will grow back fast, with the proper care." It almost sounds like she is reassuring herself of this. "No," he says. "Browns, too. But. F'rain set up wings for some of the blues and greens where they could lead. I have not met a single blue- or greenrider that I felt could lead. And how can I trust one of them to lead if they could not last a single Fall?" The edge of the razor is tested with the flat of his thumb and Z'kiel grunts. He moves behind her, long fingers feeling out the length of her braid before he pinches it just at shoulder length. "Here?" He'll not make a move until confirmation is made. But, as soon as confirmation is made, he'll cut - and cut cleanly. Edyis says, "Little above that, but yes. Let's get this over with." She swallows finally. "It serves a purpose during pass. Interveral is a different situation perhaps. Then again, I am probably biased, I've only met a few bronzeriders who I would trust to lead." She adds quietly eyes scrunching shut." The fingers lift just that little bit and the razor is applied. "Interval makes it easy to forget what we exist to do," he observes in low tones. The razor is finally drawn across, sharp enough to shear through the hair - and it helps, too, that he keeps a solid grip on her hair above the cutting point. It's only at the last strands that he deftly manages to hook his fingers under the length of hair to catch it before it falls. And then he releases entirely, only to take a step back. "There are few people I trust to lead," he says after a moment. "Regardless of what color they ride." "True enough." The sudden lack of weight is as much a sign that the deed is done as the sound of the razor severing the strands is. After he steps back her fingertips run through it several times, unhappily. A quick glance at a reflective surface and she turns to look at him. "How does it look?" She murmurs. After she's passed her fingers through, Z'kiel extends a hand to do likewise. It's a strangely featherlight thing, barely perceptible beyond the slight shift of hair. There's a grunt and then his hand seeks to press to her shoulder while he steps back in and leans over the other shoulder to offer his observations almost directly into her ear. "It is straight," as was promised, more or less. His mouth lurches to a side. "And it will grow." He straightens and steps back again, this time to collect the mirror and anything else that's lying about. "But, for now, it looks good." Something in his delivery makes her laugh, making her way over to undress and do the whole bathing thing. "Thank you, Zak. Yes, it will grow back." Looking to his now bald scalp. "Though it will probably itch when it does in your case." She shrugs off her clothes quickly, grabbing the basket and towels one slung over the shoulder opposite the tattoo making her way into the pools proper. "It will be no worse than the last time I shaved." Deadpan, that. Z'kiel pauses for a moment, eyes glossed - and then there's a peculiar, telltale quirk that is slowly becoming familiar to the other weyrlings. A bit of chin-rubbing that certainly wasn't in his tic repertoire before. He shakes his head to clear it, huffs out a breath, and heads to the water - but, not for a full bath so much as to get any lingering hair off his person. The tattoo is noted in an oblique sense, with a bland, "Looks like that healed well," angled her way. Edyis catches that tic, smiling a little bit. "Seems like Ahtzudaeth is leaving his mark on you." She submerges and resurfaces beginning to scrub. "It did; I was worried it might get infected, but it seems that I worried for nothing." When the rest of her is done she starts scrubbing at her hair. "If it's not that," Z'kiel says, "it's the nose one. The rubbing." He mimes it - and it's not unlike someone knuckling or pushing spectacles up the bridge of their nose. "Feels strange." He ducks under after that, only to surface with a grimace. His hands habitually go up to run through hair that isn't there - and his shoulders tighten just a little. "Hnh. Can happen, sometimes. Bad tools, bad ink. I've seen some go wrong." Grunt. "Glad you didn't get sick from it." Edyis grins as he explains the nose one. "Is it getting easier? Dealing with him in your head? Akluseth talks more now, and he has a habit of making sarcastic and often irritating observations." She shrugs. "That I suppose is true enough, but it seemed too interesting an idea not to try at least once. I wanted to make sure I never forgot..." She catches that shoulder tense and offers, "At least it does take far less time to wash." There might be the faintest twitch of her lips at the good natured jest. "Wasn't ever hard with him up here." Z'kiel raps knuckles at his temple. "He talks. He likes his words. I've heard some dragons aren't as good with them or they use other things to speak." It's enough to make his features scrunch up. "Worst I get is smoke sometimes. Mirrors, too, but I know how to walk past those." There's a flicked look askance to Edyis and he utters a melodic breed of hum-grunt. "Irritating. How?" Curious. Another grunt - ambiguous at best - about the tattoo and the not-forgetting; the topic is shelved for now on his end as he touches, instead, on, "Aye, well. Now I have to find something to do with the jars and pots of hair oil that I have. Doubt it'd make sense to start slicking this down." A thumb is cocked at his otherwise mildly furred self, a gesture paired with a barely perceptible quirk at the corner of his mouth. Edyis submerges rinsing the soap from her hair. When she surfaces and gets that look, she frowns. "Mm, He seems to think I am a magnet for trouble, or people who are trouble." She answers with a faint tint barely noticeable in the tops of her ears. Sometimes he will pipe up and comment on something someone else says to me when I think he's sleeping." She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. "My sisters swear that if you use certain kinds of oils at the root once a month and hang your head over upside down for a few minutes your hair will grow about an inch in a week." Her own lips curled upward. "Ah." His mouth twists with wry amusement. "He might be right. Just look at the barracks sometime." Z'kiel hauls himself out of the water and moves to where he'd left his towel and clothes. Her explanations are met with a slight bob of his head and a thoughtful hnnnh at something or another. But, his thoughts remain his own for now. At least until that last, which elicits a bark of laughter while he towels off his head. "Your sisters have not seen many men naked, have they," is his observation. "If that is all it took for hair to grow, to hang like that while covered in oil- we would all have braids." Edyis had been about to say something about the barracks when the last comment has her blushing. "I certainly hope not!" Of seeing many men naked. "They are at the Weaverhall which as far as I know doesn't condone mixed bathing." Unfortunately now Edyis is stuck contemplating how many men she's seen naked, in that context that only further serves to redden her skin."You hang upsidedown covered in oil often then?" It's likely to be something Akluseth would say rather than the trying hard not to think at the moment weyrling. To his credit, Weyrbred Z'kiel - from generations upon generations of Weyrbred folk - doesn't blush. "You should hope they do, if that is their leaning. Better to get familiar with it, I would think." He turns to properly face her, which is likely not helpful given his still-dripping state - and the fact that the towel is looped over his shoulders. One eyebrow quirks skyward at her question and his expression remains reasonably indifferent, with a hint of amusement somewhere at the fringes that is fought off for now. "I suppose they would be considered upright, but that is not the point." He gestures almost dismissively as he adds, "The oil serves its purpose - and it is not to make the hair grow." Elaboration? Nope. Not this time. Edyis blinks at him, "They are only seventeen. Too young to be seeing..." It is accidental that gesture in his direction, but fate has it timed precisely when he turns around and somehow that makes the blushing worse. Not helped any by the comments followed. When she realizes that she is now staring she disappears under the water's surface a steady trail of bubbles a strong indication that she can't stay there forever. To Edyis, Akluseth projects, « Edyis, you can't breathe water. » To Ahtzudaeth, Akluseth projects « It would seem, Edyis is trying to breathe water. I am not entirely sure as to why. What do you think? » "Only... only seventeen..." That elicits another bark of laughter. In fact, Z'kiel can't even manage words - he's actually laughing, which is probably just that much more unsettling given the circumstances. "Oh, oh ho. Edyis. Thirteen. Younger. They see all of this all the times in the baths. This is nothing wrong." Whether she hears it or not - because, well, he's not exactly looking at her or her attempted self-drowning at the moment - is another matter entirely. He's practically doubled over, hands resting on his knees, while he struggles to pull himself back together again. To Akluseth, Ahtzudaeth chortles, because the situation itself is amusing - not so much the horrifying potential reality. « I am certain she knows she cannot breathe water, » he explains. « Would you like it if I asked Z'kiel to help her breathe air again? He seems to be having trouble with the air, himself. » To Ahtzudaeth, Akluseth projects « That would be most helpful! Thank you Ahtzudaeth! » Edyis would probably remind him that she's holdbred. Unfortunately, she is determined to stay under the surface of the water until he stops laughing, or her face resumes a normal color. So embarrassed. He stops - but it's not entirely of his own volition. Z'kiel snorts, coughs, and snorts again before shaking his head as if to clear it. Chalk it up to draconic influence that he finally wraps the towel around his waist - in this, Ahtzudaeth is clearly the more socially conscious of the two. He kneels next to the pool and drops an arm down, mindful to meet only with her shoulder. Unless she moves. Then it might get even worse. But he's aiming for a shoulder. "Come now. Up. Out with you."To Akluseth, Ahtzudaeth sends the equivalent of a nod and, on the heels of that, the distantly echoing command is made. It sounds like it's echoing down some great hallway or another. For his brother's benefit, « Consider it done, brother-mine. It would not do if they both forgot that the air is their friend. » Edyis does understand that she does require air. Despite her lifemate's worries. So unfortunately she is moving when he reaches for her shoulder. This does seem to have a rather interesting effect however in that she moves much faster after the contact, putting as much distance between herself and the bronzerider as possible with a squeaking sound. There is no thought at all now, grabbing her towel, and scrambling up the steps and headed out the hallway, completely unaware of the fact that she is only' wearing a towel. Well. The deed he was set to do is complete, though it leave Z'kiel reeling - somewhat - in the wake of her departure. The weyrling bronzerider chuckles as she flees and shakes his head just a little at something or another. he takes his time to dry off and dress - and, later, she'll no doubt find her shorn braid left in a snakelike coil on her pillow. |
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